For Who Could Ever Love a Beast?
by Blade Redwind
Summary: [S3 Finale Rewrite] He'd told her, hadn't he? Time and time again. She'd brushed it off, called it his 'Luciferness'. She'd refused to see that his truth was literal, and not metaphor. Gods were real-Hell was. And he... needed her. Fighting overwhelming terror, Chloe stays; she learns that loving a self-proclaimed monster isn't easy, especially when he doesn't want your help.
1. Part One

For Who Could Ever Love a Beast?

_Chapter Song: I'll Be Good – James Young_

_Part One_

**T**he air thickened around her, heavy and electric with a lack of movement. Her eyes were locked on Pierce, unwilling to move from where she stood even as he kept the gun pointed at her. Neither were willing to back down and her throat tightened with fear; though, courage washed over her, pushing against her natural instinct to run and survive. She'd felt it many times before as a cop; and yet, no matter how many times she put herself in the line of fire it never ceased to amaze her how impossible it was to get rid of the sensation—the heart-beating possibility of death that she had to slog through every time she did her job. This time though… this time…

It had nothing to do with her job.

Her mind worked—cogs shifting as she considered her options. She might not have time to take out the man next to Pierce; however, if she could take Pierce out, she could keep the other man's shot blocked—keep him from hitting Lucifer—and hopefully get another round off in his chest before he could react fast enough.

She had, if nothing else, excellent aim. And she gambled _hard_ on that.

Her heart skipped once—hammered harder than ever in her chest just once—as she inhaled and reached for the gun on her hip. Time seemed to still, to slow, as the feel of metal sliding against the leather of her holster hummed up her hand and wrist, as she shifted her footing just so and lifted her hands—positioning herself in a familiar way, one she'd done a hundred time over. And then she exhaled as she fired, as the bullet left the barrel. But Marcus moved, the bastard; and she grit her teeth as it hit his shoulder. In that same movement her breath hitched, her chest flexed, as something rammed into her chest like a freight train.

The man next to Pierce had fired. And fuck did it hurt; she held fast to the gun in her hand even as the man behind her screamed a heart retching 'NO!' and caught her as she stumbled into his arms—gasping for breath that had been knocked out of her.

She fought to stay conscious, rallied against the pain threatening to make her pass out. She _refused _to give into the sluggishness trying to overpower her, to render her unconscious. "_Not yet_," she bit off—growled even—as she pulled on strength from somewhere deep within her and leveled her gun at the thug who'd shot at her, who was turning his attention to Marcus now that he thought she wasn't a problem anymore. She didn't hesitate; she fired off two rounds in his back. He dropped. She moved to aim for Marcus next, her gaze locked on him, when the click of guns above her caught her off guard.

Chloe's heart stopped.

One guy she could handle; one on top of Marcus had been stupi—even for her; but it had been better than the alternative. He'd wanted to _kill_ Lucifer. Lucifer, who was clutching her like a lifeline and breathing her name like a mantra. Like he couldn't believe she wasn't dead in his arms.

But as she whispered his name in return—weak from the pain in her chest that had pounded through the bullet proof vest and still trying to catch her breath—the men on the balcony had aimed and were readying to unleash a volley.

She was going to die.

She was never going to watch her daughter grow up.

She was never going to tell Lucifer that she... that she _loved_ him.

How was it when you were so close to the end of it all, watching the drop from the edge of a thin precipice, how was it_ only_ _then_ you realized what was most important?

_How?_

And just like that, just when she thought it was all over—she really was going to die in a rain of bullets in the arms of the man she loved, her vision was obscured in pearlescent white—glowing, and brilliant, and humming with a force she couldn't name but was overwhelmed by the presence of.

Feathers.

A curtain of feathers that didn't seem real enclosed her like a blanket—a shield. And briefly, she wondered if she'd already died. If this was some kind of prelude to the afterlife. Because what she was sensing? Definitely not bird feathers. She didn't know how she knew, but there was something instinctual about the knowing—the knowing that she was in the presence of something holy... divine. Pure and beyond her reach.

And yet... there they were, enthralling her—weaving into her sense of awe.

And then came the shots—the blotches of red—shattering her focus; Lucifer's voice once more screamed—shouting NO—in her ear. Desperate, broken, pained; it was the kind of scream you associated with a wounded animal. It was the kind of sound she wound have made if she hadn't been able to save him.

It took her brain a moment to catch up and realize what she was seeing—the red on the … wings. Blood.

_Lucifer's wings?_

She turned her head then, looking up at the man who cradled her in his embrace. She gasped as he cried out—wincing against the pain; the pain he was taking to shield them—_her_.

Her heart, the organ in her chest that had been beating a mile a minute from the onslaught of fears and realizations, strained in a different way. Disbelief and something else she couldn't process washed over her.

"Oh _Lucifer_…" she managed to whisper, her hand reaching up to touch his cheek as the gunshots stopped, as she heard someone hollering for them to stop.

Chocolate browns captured hers as he looked down at her. What she saw was mixture of gentleness, regret, anger, and …she didn't know… and yet did. Wholly. Completely. He reached down where the bullet had hit her, thumbing at the hole—the vest underneath—his breath releasing a shaky exhale, a gasp. His gaze shifted to relief, eye closing once before meeting hers once more.

"We don't have much time, Detective," he whispered, voice tight. "Cain has put a stop to his hired guns because he doesn't want to hurt you. But I still need to get you to safety. Away. I—."

"I can help," she snapped back, forcing herself into cop mode—a safe place to be until she could process the fact that her partner might be… she shoved it aside. "Get us cover. Now."

"Detective—."

"We don't have time to argue, Lucifer!" she hissed. "I can't move without…" she motioned to his wings, at a loss for words. Already, she could hear men moving—Pierce.

"Bloody hell," her partner snapped back, "you'll be the death of me, Detective. Half a dozen millennia of close calls against beings older than sin itself, and I'll be laid waste by a bloody broken hea…" he trailed off, his voice choking on the word even as he snapped to motion, pulling his wings back just enough to move and… dash? She didn't know what to call it, the speed at which he got them out of the way of the returning gun fire. She heard him hiss again; a few must have caught the wing he was using to shield them.

Once she was behind a handful of statues and art pieces that looked to be made of warped steel, she let out a sigh. It was easier to stand when she didn't have to worry about jeopardizing Lucifer. Her chest strained once again as she caught sight of his bloodied wings.

_His wings._

Chloe shook her head, forcing herself to focus. Mental assessment and possible breakdown later; Marcus now. This became especially apparent when shots were being fired at them again, twanging off the art pieces around her. Chloe turned, dislodging her magazine clip with a push of a button on her semiautomatic; in the same breath she reloaded another and took up a spot. One idiot was open from her line of sight, so she fired. He dropped like a rock. The rest of the thugs shouted and started taking cover.

"Lucifer—" she started, intent on asking if he had a gun.

"Keep firing, Detective. I'll take care of the rest while you cover me."

Before she could argue, there was a whoosh of air around her and his presence—of which she was acutely aware of—was now absent. Chloe cursed, but kept firing. She caught a glimpse of him on the balcony, coming up behind one of the men that were using what looked like an AK. He turned to face Lucifer and Chloe gasped, firing several shot even as Lucifer used his wing to attack at the same time.

Two down and he was moving again.

Chloe did her best to keep up, all the while wondering where Pierce was. One more down. And then the last one was tossed out into the center of the rounded room, sliding across the floor on his back. Lucifer was striding up to him as he moved to stand. But Chloe was faster. She aimed—fired. And he was down.

When Pierce walked out into the open she readied another.

But even as she moved to fire the warning—because he wasn't armed—her gun clicked. Empty. "Shit." And she didn't have another magazine.

"I'm out," she shouted to Lucifer.

"That's fine, Detective. Stay where you are. I'll handle this," he called back loudly.

Like hell, she thought. They were at an advantage. Two against one. So she darted out from behind her hiding spot, holstering her gun as she made a beeline for Pierce. Both men were walking towards one another—fully intent on ripping each other apart.

She was fifteen or so feet away when she hit some kind of invisible barrier and stumbled. It took her a moment to regain her balance. "What the hell?" she snapped.

"You won't be getting in anytime soon," Pierce told her. She looked down at the floor, trying to figure out what it was even as he explained. "It's a celestial trap. It won't break until I release it or I'm dead." Chloe's eyes narrowed on the runes on the ground, the faint glowing hum.

"I _am_ impressed, Cain," she heard Lucifer say with a lyrical lilt to his voice—an angry and sarcastic sing-song, "The materials you would need to cast something of the like must have been costly—and hard to find. But, indeed, you've done me the favor of not only trapping you with me, but of keeping the detective out until I'm finished with you."

"Only one us leaves, Lucifer," he retorted. "And it won't be you."

Chloe could only watch on helplessly as the two men fought, as Marcus swiped at Lucifer with a curved blade. She desperately wanted to call for backup, for help. But… if she did that… Her throat caught as she gazed down at the bloodied feathers on the ground, at the ones coming out of Lucifer's back still. He was using them to fight Pierce; to block and attack. And her gut twisted every time the other man cut into him or his wings.

Fuck, why? She needed—.

Suddenly and unexpectedly—quickly—Lucifer maneuvered his grasp on Pierce's wrist and shoved the curved blade into his chest. Chloe gasped as he dropped to the floor, as Lucifer followed his descent and leaned over him. Speaking.

She couldn't hear either man at this distance, but she could only watch—hands pressed against the invisible barrier, as Pierce died—as soft burnish of red flame cut and spread over Lucifer's face and visible skin.

_What…_

It started in her stomach—some kind of mixture of dread, terror, and fight or flight instinct. It was slow at first as she tried to figure out what she was seeing. The wings... the deep red skin... the heated fiery gaze that glowed like... like...

_Hellfire_.

Her heart caught in her throat as he turned to look at her, as the full force of what she was _really_ looking at hit her. _Hard_.

"Detective …? Are you alright?" He moved one step towards her and she couldn't help it. She took a step back, her body visibly shaking once.

"It's all true…" she whispered.

His reaction was instantaneous—as if she'd triggered something old and raw within him. He flinched as if she'd struck him. And then something tore in his gaze—anguished and raw and brutal—as he looked down at his hands. "Detective… I…" he started, visibly swallowing once as he closed his eyes.

_Resignation_.

_Self-loathing._

She felt it from him more than saw it and her heart gave a sympathetic flex even as terror kept her glued in place. "…I told you, didn't I?"

Her eyes widened as he teetered, stumbling once. He was falling. He was going to hit the floor. Somehow, empathy won out and she forced her legs to move, forced instinct to take over; she caught him and crumbled in the weight of him to the floor. At the same time her own words washed over her—reminding her of the man she'd judged him to be based on his _actions_:

_You are not a monster. Not to me._

She was still terrified; even as her own words echoed in her mind, she knew she was afraid. The instinct that had told her to catch him, told her to help him; the other, the scared part, told her to run. Far away.

He was The Devil—an incomprehensible being of power she could barely wrap her mind around.

And yet….

Chloe took in a deep breath, fighting back the tears her eyes were shedding because she was fighting a state of shock the same way she'd fought to stay conscious to protect him earlier. Her body had no idea what to do and went for whatever helped alleviate some of the frightening stress. She was holding a literal a literal fallen angel in her arms. And, fuck, he could be dying.

The man she _loved_, she reminded herself, could be dying.

Her mind, heart, and gut pulled in three different directions as she stared down at his red burnished skin—skin that felt as normal as her own, if not slightly warmer, despite the unnatural look of it—and at his broken and bloodied wings. And for a moment… all doubt, all fear, all questions cleared…

He was like this because of her.

Because he'd been _protecting_ her.

Her grip tightened on his torn and bloodied jacket, his shirt. He hadn't been shot in the chest, but she could see a gunshot wound on his arm through the tear in the fabric. How many more where in lodged in his wings? How many hits had he taken to keep her _alive_?

_You _arenot_ a monster. Not to me._

Chloe closed her eyes. Once. And the when she opened them again—locked on the man in her arms—a decision was made. She dug in her jacket for her phone. Hands shaking, she looked up Maze's number and dialed. Her breathing was ragged and her throat felt tight when the other woman finally answered, saying, "Yeah, Decker?"

"I need your help."

There was a brief second of pause before Maze said, "Where are you? What happened?"

"Lucifer… he… He might be dying." She rattled off the location. "I… I don't know if I can get him out by myself. And the crime scene… there are bloody feathers everywhere and I—"

"Did you say _feathers_?" Maze asked.

"Yes, and there might be cameras," she got out. "I need help."

"Is he breathing?" She asked next. "Is he hurt anywhere vital? Chest? Stomach?"

Chloe made did a quick check. "Yeah, he is. And no, he's not. Just… his arm has a bullet and his wings are…" she trailed off again, her heart suddenly breaking just a bit. She sucked it all in—forced herself to.

She had to be strong, she reminded herself.

"Ok, good. He's not dying, Decker. Trust me. Now listen, is there any way you can get him out and into your car? Did you bring a car?"

Chloe looked around the room frantically, spotting a cart of some kind. There was a sheet draped over it. "Yeah, I have my car. And there's a cart. I... I might be able to wheel him out."

"Ok, good. Because you need to get him out of there now. If you don't need to wait on me you shouldn't. Got it so far?"

"Y-Yeah." she managed.

"Get him in that cart. Cover him with something so one sees what you're doing—anything will do. And then get him into your car. Take him to Lux and go to the loading dock. Ring for someone to open the door and when they do ask for Tony. He'll help you get Lucifer up to the penthouse, no questions asked. Got it? Can you do that, Decker?"

"I… I think so."

"If you _can't_ get him out of there, call me back. Understood? I'll meet you there when I'm done cleaning up the scene."

"Alright," she managed, eyes focused on the man on the floor before her. As Maze said goodbye and click of the call being disconnected sounded, Chloe's eyes swept over him again—the deep red of skin, the softness of his unconscious features despite the sharp angles, and the torn and jagged state of his wings. Her heart strained, her throat clotted with something, and her heart began to crack and she—.

Chloe swallowed it all down—again—and forced herself to stand. To cross the room and get the empty cart with the large white sheet draped over it. She dragged it to the man on the floor and reached for him—trying to lift him. But he was so much bigger than her; so much taller. And his wings weren't making it any easier.

He groaned and she let out a gasp before saying, "Lucifer?" Another groan. Good. Maybe. She was desperate and didn't want to wait on Maze. "I need you to try and stand. Just for a minute. I have to get you in this cart. Ok? Can you do that?" Another groan, and this time she thought she heard him say 'Detective…?'. "Please," she begged, her arms tugging him from under his arms. His cheek was on her shoulder. "I don't think I can do this without you," she whispered.

And just when she was about to give up and call Maze back, he put weight under his legs, hissing once. She let out a sigh of relief and helped him get into the cart. She covered him with the sheet as best she could.

Getting him into her car took work; more work than getting him into the cart had involved. But she was doing something, and doing _something_ meant not thinking about the fact that a man she cared deeply about, that she loved… she swallowed it all again. Doing something meant not focusing on the white elephant in the room. And so she trudged on, thankful that he'd been half conscious enough to help her get him into the car.

Once she got to Lux she did as Maze asked. The guy named Tony carried him from the car and through the empty club. Chloe followed silently behind all the way up the elevator. Her eyes were locked on Lucifer even when Tony gently laid him on the bed.

"You need me to get anything?" the brickhouse of a bouncer asked, breaking her out of her spell.

Chloe jumped once and met the big man's gaze. "Um… yes. Medical supplies. Bandages. I need too to clean his wounds and…" She thought hard about his injuries—how many she'd counted when Maze had asked. Bullet wound on his arm. Two deep cuts on his chest from Marcus' blade. Another cut on his hip and who knew how many were on his wings… Her gaze drifted over those. They hung limp on his sides; he was lying face down.

"I'll bring our big med kit," Tony finally told her when she trailed off and became quiet for too long. "You need more than that and I'll get it for you. I'll bring you some warm water and some wash cloths too. That alright?"

"And soap," she agreed.

He nodded in her peripheral and disappeared entirely. Chloe didn't move until the elevator doors chimed, signaling the bouncer was gone.

She… she needed to get him out of those clothes, she told herself. She couldn't clean anything if she didn't do that first. So she took in a deep breath again and looked around the room for a pair of scissors. She came up empty until she hunted around in his nightstand. A descent set of kitchen scissors sat in the drawer and she snatched them up. And then she started to cut his clothes away—slowly, gently, and with intent. She carefully maneuvered to avoid his wings, stiffening every time she jostled them—causing him to cry out softly in his unconscious state. Something sliced through her—jagged like a knife—each time she slipped up.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, tears in her throat; because he was pain, because he'd done it for her, because he was The Devil, because he—.

Her heart began to break then, shatter just a bit as a heavy weight pressed on her chest at the sight of him once it was all removed; once he was naked and all she could see was red burnished skin and bloodied broken wings.

Her legs gave out on her and she managed to reach for the bed, to let herself sit down on the edge next to where he lay. The top edge of a wing brushed her back, but she barely noticed. She just sat there, transfixed on him—as if staring could somehow help her process what she was seeing.

Chloe had never been particularly religious. Her mother had never had an interest in church and her father had been too busy being a dedicated cop and family man to bother. She'd been once or twice as a child because a friend had invited her, but nothing that impressed upon her a belief in a higher power. She wouldn't have said she was nonbeliever either, but she'd always sort of ascribed to the idea that when you died you went somewhere better; or maybe you reincarnated into a bird or something. It had been a comforting thought for her, believing that her father had gone somewhere to either be at peace or start anew.

She let out a breath that wasn't quite a sigh, refusing to look away from him.

Monstrous, he'd called himself, as if no one could love him—as if he was not worthy of love.

_For who could ever love a beast…?_

The quote echoed in her mind, not quite Disney. It would be easy to smile, but she couldn't manage it. Because all she _could_ manage to wonder was what she'd been avoiding for the last hour. No... it had been a lot longer than that. Maybe… maybe it had started when she'd tried to get a look at the scars on his back all that time ago.

Chloe was so lost in her own thoughts she almost didn't hear Tony come back with the supplies. She thanked him and once more, didn't get to work until he was gone again—telling her to call downstairs if she needed him for something.

Once more, she summoned the mental and emotional strength and got to work. Wet cloth in hand, she began the process of cleaning his wounds. Aside from the gunshot, they all appeared to be surface; though she had no doubt he's lost a lot of blood via his wings. The pain his body was trying to process had likely caught up with him at the end, forcing him to pass out.

He shifted, making a sound now and then as she worked. And once more she found that knife cutting at her insides. She tried to be gentle, God help her. Though... maybe that wasn't best phrase at the moment. She pushed the thought aside and gave a sigh as her gaze settled on the oozing gunshot wound. She could do that last. For now she needed to roll him on his side and clean the cuts on his abdomen—bandage them. Hopefully he wouldn't need stitches.

Chloe maneuvered herself then, reaching for his shoulder and side. The action forced her to duck under his wing and she whispered an apology when he cried out. She began to push, palms pressing into the smooth warm texture of his burnished skin when she felt eyes on her. Chloe stilled as her gaze met with fiery red—locking. Fear rattled through her once more and her breath caught. But fighting alongside that fear—the fear that the man under her grasp was older and more powerful than anything she could _ever_ imagine, that he could probably squish her like and ant if he wanted—was also a longing. And empathy.

_Love_.

Unconditional.

A love that didn't give _a damn_ about _what_ he was; only _who_.

Her heart jumped with it, beat a million miles a minute as they held gazes.

And then, all at once, he was gone. A flurry of bloodied feathers scattered around her. In a matter of moments he was across the room, wings wrapped around him like a shield that completely blocked her view.

"Go away, Detective," he bit off, his voice laden with forced anger. But she could hear fear woven there as well.

Pain.

"…_No_," she shot back, her own voice shaky but strong. Determined. "I have to finish. I still need to clean your front and apply the bandages. I—."

"Please, Chloe," he whispered, voice strained and begging, "Go away."

But she didn't stop; she pushed through the terror, the fear, and focused on the man she knew him to be—that he'd proven himself to be. Not the beast mythos made him out to be. She forced through the fear that he could probably break her into a million pieces if he wanted, gambling that he wouldn't. That if he were capable of that kind of violence against her he would have already wiped her from existence.

She took a step forward. One slow shaky step turned into three, turned into four, and by the time she made it to the other side of the bed she wasn't trembling at all. Just cautiously approaching him where he'd all but plastered himself up against the wall in some attempt to get as far away from her as possible.

Her wounded angel.

Scared.

Of _her_.

"Lucifer…" she whispered softly as her heart seemed to catch in her throat, as she reached out for him and her fingers grazed the soft feathers. "Please just let me—."

And then his wings opened wide with a snap of bones and breath of air along her face and chest, his red enflamed glare focused on her. She watched, gasping, as every muscle in his chest flexed—amber-gold and red glowing in his veins just below the surface like some kind of liquid flame, creating a sharp contrast against his skin. His eyes flashed. "_Leave!_" he shouted at her.

And for a brief moment that was all she wanted to do. The fear overwhelmed her once more—sucked her down like she'd been sheered naked to the core of her being.

But she didn't. The courage she'd managed to summon forced her to stand her ground, to hold his gaze, to set her jaw and glare back at him. "No!" she yelled in return with a much force as she could muster, "I'm not leaving you like this! I won't! So stop asking me to!"

"Damnit, Chloe—," he started up again, less loudly this time—making her think he'd realized his angry bear approach had failed to scare her off.

"No," she interrupted him, feeling like she was on a roll. "I get it," she went on, voice still strong despite the shake in it, "you're Lucifer—the _actual_ Devil. Ruler of Hell. I get it," she repeated, holding his fiery gaze even as it burned through her like some kind of inferno. "I'm terrified," she admitted, rambling a bit. "But I'm _not_ terrified because you're Satan, _you idiot_. I'm not even terrified because you look like some kind of burn victim—I got over that about an hour ago," she said through tears she couldn't stop, that rolled down her cheeks like some kind of embodied vulnerability and strength all at once. "I'm mostly terrified because… because how in the hell am I supposed to process that the man I love is an immortal being that could squish me under his foot if he wanted? How am I supposed to reconcile that… that…" She exhaled a breath, pulling herself back together. She only broke his gaze to close her eyes once, but met his again once she let it out, exhaling. "_I'm sorry_. I can't help it. I don't want to be, but—" She cut herself off and took another step forward, causing the man in front of her to gasp and lift his hands as if to coil back into himself.

She fought the urge top flinch at the motion and pushed on, gently wrapping her hands around his wrists. "Please," she whispered, pleading, "I'm trying. So... _please_ come back to bed. Let me help you."

* * *

**AN ::** So... this is a thing that happened. Don't judge. -shifty eyes-

I've been watching Lucifer since it aired on Fox. I have not finished season four yet, but I'm enjoying it so far. Kind of. I do wish they'd have used Lilith instead of Eve... buuuut... whatever. It might be best that they didn't. I'm kind of a Lilith fan girl and have a set image of her for my own supernatural series. Lucifer isn't too different from their rendition though. This show has inspired me to write my own angel saga in the same universe after I finish with my vampires and dhampires. But I'm rambling and veering off topic...

_Anyway_.

Hope you liked this. It's got four parts—including this one. Three more are not fully edited to my standards. I'm going to release one every weekend.

And PS, if you're interested in betaing for me for my original work, please message me. I'm currently making a list of beta readers. If not, that's cool to.

Also remember that reviews are love, but like love—are not demanded. (At least not from me.)

—**Blade**


	2. Part Two

For Who Could Ever Love a Beast

_Part Two_

**W**hy couldn't he turn it off? The wings, the devil face—he couldn't shut it off. _Why? _He hadn't wanted her to find out this way, not in the heated aftermath wherein they'd fought for their lives. Not after he'd murdered a man. Not after he'd murdered others because he couldn't stand the thought anything happening to her. And then, when her gaze had finally landed on him... on _this_...

_Why_ wouldn't she leave?

He froze in her grasp, his breath holding tight in his lungs; his gaze focused on her—_really_ focused on Chloe. He sunk into the endless blue of her eyes, the clearest window to any human soul, and bathed in the threads of color laden there—the slices of ice, sky, and sapphire. The tears that settled on the corners, the stains the painted on her cheeks—he took it all in as her admission finally caught up with him, finally cut through the pain and desire for her to leave him to it.

"…What did you say?" he said in a hushed and urgent whisper.

She paused, her grip on his wrists gentling enough that her skin slid against his own. "I… I said a lot of things."

He moved into her space then, unable to stop himself. And for a moment, when her eyes widened, he nearly stepped back. But she must have realized this because she let go of his wrists and placed her hands on his hips—holding fast; she moved close enough to brush her chest against his, to breathe the air he expelled, to feel the unnatural heat coming off of him in waves.

Again, he couldn't find words. All he could do was will himself to settle. But it seemed impossible. Never in his life had he cared so much about one person's opinion of him. One person's judgement.

Never.

"You said you loved me," he managed next, letting her hold him there.

Another pause, as if she too were registering and processing every moment between them. "I did," she finally whispered back. "Do you need me to say it again?"

He hesitated, swallowed once, and then forced the words to the surface—wondering if he sounded like a selfish stupid idiot. "Can you?" His voice was just as soft as before.

Her arms slid around him slowly—palms smoothing out along his back in what could only be described as caressing; her eyes shut as she pressed her forehead to his. It was impossible not to embrace her in turn, his heart hammering a mile a minute.

"I love you, Lucifer Morningstar," she whispered back. "Now," she went on, "will you _please_ quit fighting me and let me help you?"

If she left he would heal in his own time; it wouldn't take as long, granted, and he wouldn't need the bandages, but… then she wouldn't be _here_. As much as he hated her seeing him like this, as much as his own self-loathing and shame reverberated through him, he was too selfish to actually make her go. Not now. Not when she'd said…

His chest eased slightly and he nodded. He believed her, and yet…

"Come on," she encouraged him, tugging him back towards the bed. She stepped out of the circle of his arms ever so slowly. One hand moved to grasp his, the other rested on his bare lower back. He followed her, letting her guide him in numb silence. Now that he wasn't focused on hiding from her quite so desperately the pain had returned. He did his best not to wince as she directed him to sit on the edge of the bed. It was awkward; his wings didn't want to lay right at first. And that too made him wince and hiss; but Chloe hastened to help.

She lifted one carefully, helping him spread it out and to the side behind him. "Like this?"

"Yes, that's… that's much better," he exhaled. They felt as though they'd been run through a grinder and spit back out.

He was tense about the other wing, his left, until she gently lifted it and manually spread it like she'd done the other. He allowed his muscles to relax so she could, once again releasing another tight breath. It felt so bloody good to have the weight off his shoulders and back, to not have to fight to keep them up—something he hadn't realized he was doing until they were no longer doing as much.

"Thank you," he breathed out, his hands covering his face as he bent over close to his knees. He fought the urge to throw up as the pain washed over him in one wave before dying down to a tolerable hum.

"You're welcome," she said in quiet reply. Next, he listened as she rummaged through something. He could hear plastic and zippers. After a moment—once he felt good enough to move—he lifted his head to see what she was doing. On the floor she sat, a large unzipped packet opened in front of her with more than a dozen medical supplies. It was splayed like a book, and, he watched as she eyed different boxes and packages before grabbing what she wanted and setting them on the bed next to him.

"I need to get to the cuts on your side and chest. I still need to clean them too," she added after a visible realization. "No, I forgot I still need to wash your whole front."

So he lifted himself straighter without a word and looked away. He shut his eyes and exhaled another painful sigh once he felt the wet cloth on the first of the injuries.

"If you're having a hard time now," she said gently, "you're not going to be happy once I get to the bullets."

"I'll push through it," was his instinctive response, half defensive. Not that he'd meant to be. But he couldn't help but notice the way her hand seemed to still for a fraction of a second. "It's fine, Chloe," he elaborated.

"You've been through worse." It wasn't a question, but more a statement.

"…Yes."

She didn't ask, and he felt a sense of relief at that. So he sucked in the quiet that wrapped around them like a warm blanket as she worked—as she wiped the rag along his abdomen, his arms and shoulders, his sides, his hips, and then his legs. His gaze shifted to her when she didn't stop at his wounds. They'd clotted well enough that she didn't have to cover them right away. Maybe he healed just as fast regardless of her presence. Maybe it was the initial injury that wasn't preventable; sort of how alcohol still didn't work very well in normal human doses around her. It would be a relief to know her absence didn't make a difference in recovery time. Though, right now his mind was focusing on something entirely unrelated to any of the aforementioned.

At the moment he was mesmerized by the sight of her kneeling at his feet—at the sight of her _washing_ his feet. He couldn't move; couldn't find the will to do so. All of the pain, the ache in his chest, the emotional agony he'd been holding onto released itself in one swoop. By the stars, what was she doing to him?

"Lucifer?" he heard her say, stopping. "What's wrong?" Her voice was urgent. Her hands were on his cheeks, wiping. "Did I hurt you? I'm sorry."

He realized he was crying and shook his head, taking in a sharp and shaky breath. "Quite the opposite, actually," he replied.

"I don't understand." Her concerned gaze narrowed on him. Her thumbs wiped at the tears that wouldn't stop falling. He needed to stop, but he couldn't.

So he opted to explain—hoping that getting the words out would make it easier rein in on the reaction he couldn't put a control valve on. "In… I guess what you would call biblical era, it was customary to wash the feet of a guest in a home of another. Not shocking, as feet got quite dirty in those days—what with the desert and all." He paused long enough to let her wipe his face, which only managed to make the mixture of disbelief and gratitude heavier. "However, it was an act that was usually relegated to servants. In the rare case the head of household did it… it was considered a gesture of humility and…" He trailed off, swallowing. "You might compare it to a display of supreme affection and respect." He was staring at his hands there, looking at the way they lay in his lap.

He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting her to do next.

What he didn't expect was the way she took hold of his chin and forced him to look at her. Nor did he expect the softness of her eyes, the way she caressed a hand down his face—making him ache for the warmth she provided. But what took him by surprise the most—beyond anything else—was the press of her lips to his own.

At first he tensed—inhaling sharply through his nose. But when she opened her mouth to his he relaxed almost immediately, sinking into her in every way possible.

How was you didn't know you needed something until someone came along—and in spite of it all—offered it freely? She gave him compassion like it was something she could suffuse into his veins through will alone; like if she tried hard enough she could suck all of the pain and agony out of him all by just wanting it badly enough.

When she pulled away finally, he was breathless with too many feelings to count. He didn't know which one to process first. But her voice, quiet and just as gentle as ever, cut through him and continued to make him hyperaware of her presence.

"It's gone. Lucifer, your skin..."

He looked down at his hands, his bare legs; pink flesh, not red. The skin he'd been born with, not the skin he'd been damned with. He let out a sigh of relief, another weight lifting immediately. He shut his eyes briefly and wiped a hand down his face—then pushed fingers through his mussed hair as he spoke, "Thank you—again."

Her brow knit and he could tell she was confused. So he offered her a small smile, surprising himself. "My brother recently proved a theory that metaphor can be quite literal for angels—for me. I think; therefore I am. Thus, if I believe myself to be the villain in this tale, then I am."

She scrutinized him carefully, frowning only slightly—still in confusion. "I understand, but… that doesn't explain why—"

"Why I'm thanking you?" The smile remained as he reached out to her slowly, as he smoothed long slender digits across her cheeks and tugged her back towards him; it was easier to do now that he wasn't suffocating under the pressure of his Devil Face. His shut his eyes as he pressed a kiss to her forehead and held her there—not quite brave enough to meet her gaze as he spoke across her temple in a soft and murmuring voice.

"Your judgement of me is quite valuable; quite valuable to a creature that has far too little value for himself," he admitted. "Despite fear screaming at you otherwise, you brought me home. Despite my best efforts to rid you of me, you have stayed." He didn't like it, but he couldn't help the way his throat tightened when he spoke the next. "No one has ever washed my feet before—certainly not while I was…" He took breath inward, centering himself and pushing onward. "You make me want to be a better man, Detective."

Even as he said it he realized it was true. Until then he hadn't fully understood, not until the words were leaving his mouth. And in the same breath he said, "I love you too."

She went still a moment and he was worried he'd said something wrong. But when she gently wrapped her arms around him he relaxed and hugged her back.

They stayed that way for good minute before she pulled away and absolutely insisted he left her finish tending to him—promising to leave the worst of it—the bullets that were lodged in his wings and arm—until Maze showed. So he let her, never once allowing his gaze leave her. And when she finished, as if by some kind of magic that predicted the most opportune time, her phone rang.

#

"Is everything alright?" she asked as she stood and held a hand up for Lucifer to wait a moment. He waved her off and Chloe stepped out the room, not quite as stressed about his condition now that she'd managed to make him look less like a horror movie victim. His wings were still heartbreaking to behold, but she wasn't afraid to leave him alone for a few minutes.

"Decker," Maze's voice deadpanned on the other line. "What the hell happened here? I mean, I figured it was bad. But fuck, woman."

So Chloe explained everything and then some for context's sake. She told Maze about how Pierce had killed Charlotte, how they'd been afraid to tell the department, how he'd been the Sinnerman, and about the trap she and Lucifer had walked into. All of it—figuring that if Maze knew about his wings, if she hadn't started interrupting her, that she probably knew about everything else.

"Look," Maze finally said when she was done, "there's a lot there I could address, but I can do that later. Right now I need to figure out how you want this mess cleaned up and set beyond the feather business."

"What do you mean?"

"Cops aren't here yet. Pierce either set something up, or I don't know… Honestly, there's enough ammo on the floor here that someone _should_ have heard. But it doesn't really matter; eventually someone is going to come sniffing. And, Decker, you guys did this off the books. You, Dan, and Ella. Ella could probably get off with a slap on the wrist, but you and Dan already have a record. So if you try to go legit with this? It's gonna be a fucking nightmare."

"…What are you suggesting?"

Maze sighed, and she could hear her pace—the clip of her boots on tile. "You've got enough evidence to plant for Charlotte's murder and the Sinnerman gig—to pin it on Pierce. As for the scene, I can make it look like his hired help decided it was time to take him out. I can pay a few key witnesses to make sure it isn't questioned."

Chloe sighed. Maze wasn't wrong. And while it went against the very fiber of her being to tamper with the truth, she wasn't dealing with normal circumstances at the moment. "You'll have to get Dan and Ella on board."

"Not a problem."

"How are you going to do that without telling them that Lucifer is…"

"What? _Lucifer?_" Maze finished for her. "I'm not going to tell them anything. All they know is that you went to investigate a lead, right?"

"Yes," Chloe sighed out in frustration as she wiped a hand down her face, pacing herself. "But I think they're going to figure out that something is up when the place they find Pierce and his dead henchmen in is the same place I was supposed to look into. They knew where I was going."

"Ah… yeah, that could be an issue."

"You think?" Chloe let her hand hit her hip in some finalization of this statement.

"I'll just move the crime scene," Maze grumbled. "It'll be a bigger pain in the ass, but I'll manage. It certainly isn't the first time I've had had to clean up after him, trust me." Before Chloe could comment, she went on, "Just call Dan and Ella and tell them—"

"Maybe we should just tell them the truth," she interrupted.

There was silence on the other end of the line at that. But Maze wasn't arguing with her, so that was a good sign. "I… I wouldn't even consider it," she went on, "but it feels bad enough lying to the whole precinct, you know? I get why we have to, but I'd feel belter if we told Dan and Ella the truth."

There was more silence and then a long sigh—as if Maze was resigned. "I'll text you an address. Tell Dan and Ella to meet you there in about an hour and a half as soon as you get off the phone with me."

"Me? Why—"

"You won't actually meet them. I will. I'll handle it, but they're probably going to want to talk to you. Soon."

"How are you going to convince them?"

"I'm going to bring Linda and Amenadiel with me; Linda knows and Amenadiel is Amenadiel. I'll make it work. Then I'll see you after, alright?"

"Ok," she agreed, not knowing what else to say. When Maze hung up without another word, Chloe let out a long sigh. She sent the text to Dan, who asked her if everything was alright. She told him she was ok, but that she didn't have time to get into the details—and not to call her. She wasn't sure she could lie to him over a call. He'd think it was a matter of safety and wouldn't text again. When he didn't, she let out another sigh—grateful.

It occurred to her a few moments later that Amenadiel—when she mentally reviewed Maze's plan—was Lucifer's brother; that Lucifer was fallen angel. So that meant…

…Wait, what was Maze?

Chloe echoed this question, and asked about Amenadiel once she returned to Lucifer's bedroom. He was in nearly the same place, but he'd pulled a blanket over his legs and part of his hips.

"Yes, he's an angel. I believe I've said something about that before."

"And Maze?"

"Demon." He was looking at her then, brows slightly raised—eyes cautiously guarded. "Are you alright, Detective?"

She nodded. Demon. Ok, she could process that. It was easier to when compared to revelation of the man in front of her. Demon was par for course at this point; she could deal with the details later. "I just got off the phone with Maze. She's going to make it look like Pierce's hired guns killed him in some kind power play and plant evidence so Charlotte's murder and the Sinnerman identity are pinned on him."

"And she's going to tell Dan and Ella the truth," he finished for her. "Yes, I know. I have excellent hearing. But are you alright? This has been a rather trying day for both of us… to put it mildly."

She nodded, deciding it was also par for course that he had supernatural hearing. "I'm better. I think you and I still have some things to discuss, but that can wait a bit. Are you hungry?"

"I don't actually need to eat," he admitted, shifting slightly—wincing once as his wings moved. "What do you want to discuss, Detective? Maze won't be here for a while to help either of us, so you might as well save me the frustration of agonizing over what's bothering you and simply tell me."

Once again, her heart went out to him—to the pain he must be in. She stepped forward. "Do you want to lie down?" she asked, ignoring his question. "I think we can get the bullet out of your arm even if you're lying on your stomach."

He frowned at her, giving her a 'look' that—despite the frown—caused a warmth to blossom in her chest. "I'll lie down once you explain to me what's bothering you."

She shouldn't have said anything, but now that he was pushing for it she supposed there was nothing to be done. She just hadn't wanted to surprise him when she brought it up later. "Why did you almost let me almost marry him? A murderer. Why? You knew what he was for months and you let him make me think he was a good person. We're partners. We're supposed to have each other's backs. Why would you do that?"

"That's… that's a difficult question to answer, Detective."

"Try to. Please."

He sighed, wiping a hand down his face. "In fairness, I believe I tried to tell you the truth. I told you he was Cain, but you didn't believe me—just as you didn't believe me every time I told you I wasn't just a character in some asinine fantasy in order to get laid by every beautiful thing on two legs."

"Fine," she agreed. "Then why not tell me he was the Sinnerman? You couldn't have found a way to convince me of that?"

"Why should I have had to?" he shot back, his gaze heavy on hers all of a sudden.

It made her defensive as well, but she did her best to temper it down. They had to have this conversation. It was ugly, but necessary. "Lucifer, that's not fair. How could you have expected me to choose between believing the man I was going to marry and—"

"Exactly," he cut her off. "You would have thought me a bloody jealous fool. And I was, even if it was for all the right reasons. And despite your faith in me, Cain has spent _centuries_ covering his tracks and hiding evidence. I doubt I would have been able to find anything. Beyond that…" he trailed off, his features softening, his gaze shifting away. "…You said you were happy."

"Yes, but he's killed people, Lucifer. In cold blood. I…"

"And you think _I haven't?"_ He asked next, voice tight. "I've killed Cain haven't I? I killed his men."

"That's not the same," she argued, stepped towards him—moving to kneel between his legs even as he kept his gaze turned from her. "You killed him to protect me—to protect yourself. He wasn't going to stop."

"You were happy," he repeated. "And he was changing. I wanted you to be happy, even if that happiness was achieved in my absence."

She didn't know if she fully accepted his rationale, but… the intent had been selfless; completely selfless, actually. There wasn't a clearer definition of unconditional love. Regardless. it was difficult to be angry with him in the aftermath—especially when he'd suffered for it already.

"Ok," she said softly, squeezing his thighs once. "I'm sorry. I should have given you the benefit of the doubt."

"Thank you, Detective." His whole body seemed to relax at that.

* * *

**AN :: **Second update, as promised. And before midnight! Hope you enjoyed it. If you like it, you should check out my Lucifer/Buffy crossover story on Elysian Fields, the Spuffy fanfiction archive. I won't be posting it on FF, and I've been told it's hilarious.

Thanks for reading. Reviews are love, but not required.

—**Blade **


	3. Part Three

For Who Could Ever Love a Beast

_Part Three_

**B**y the time Maze made it back to Lux she felt like she'd run a marathon—again. It had been a bitch and a half to get from the damned warehouse where Cain had stashed her to Linda. She'd only had a few hours to relax before Decker had called her freaking out. Being a demon had its advantages, but she was beat. Between removing the blood-stained feathers and bodies from the crime scene, staging said crime scene (which included retrieving her weapon and replacing it with something similar, because fuck forensics taking her blade), and talking to Ella and Dan, she was ready to sleep for a week. She was definitely taking a short break from bounty hunting either way.

When the elevator door dinged open and she made her way into Lucifer's suite she hadn't know what to expect. She hadn't watched the tapes from the scene; all of those had been dealt with by some tech in Lucifer's employ. They'd shown up, no questions asked, and it was done.

Whatever she had expected, however, was not what greeted her. In fact, the scene that met her gaze made her take pause.

Lucifer was laid out on his stomach, wings on full display. Chloe was standing on the bed, frowning awkwardly as she wiped a wet washcloth down a section of feathers. She was too focused to notice Maze, so the demon just stood there for a little while—slightly awestruck. His wings were stained pink in some places, red in others; more still looked to be browning in sections where blood had dried. She'd known they'd been injured based on what Chloe has told her, but it was a little different actually seeing Lucifer's impressive wings… like this. Beyond that, the image of the detective carefully cleaning them made Maze almost uncomfortable; like she was intruding on something. A rare sensation for her.

She pushed through it anyway, stepping into the room quietly once she noticed Lucifer's slow breathing. "Decker?" she asked, voice hushed

#

She'd been at this for a good hour, carefully wiping each section of feathers—adjusting and laying the where they seemed to go. Any that were loose she'd removed without much effort. Some had been painful for him, so she'd taken care of those first.

Bullets had been her primary concern, but most of them must have fallen out, unable to get too deep beyond the skin underneath; it made her wonder if his feathers were semi-bullet proof. What few had managed to lodge themselves had been easy enough to remove—if not just as painful as the removal of the broken feathers. Suffice to say, that once she'd finished with both primary tasks, Lucifer had passed out. And that had left her to clean the wings. She'd gone through three buckets of water in an hour, so the job was mostly done; even so, a warm wash in a shower big enough to get them soaped up and fully clean would be better. But she'd checked his shower; it wasn't big enough. Well… maybe if he…

"Decker?" a whisper sounded.

Chloe turned her head, spying Maze in the doorway. She wasn't sure, but the other woman looked… uncomfortable? No, that wasn't possible. Maze couldn't get uncomfortable. Either way, she was relieved to see her and got off the bed slowly. She tossed the rag in a bucket and ushered Maze out quietly, not wanting to wake Lucifer.

Once they were in the next room and far enough away she spoke up, "I'm glad you're here—and grateful. I'm… I'm not sure how I would have dealt with this on my own."

"It's fine, Decker," she replied, arms crossing over her chest. "Honestly, Lucifer can consider it payment for killing Cain for me. That asshole had me chained up in some damn warehouse."

"Oh my God, are you ok?" Her eyes widened and concern welled up in her.

Maze shrugged. "I'm fine. Linda let me crash at her place and clean up. I'm not invulnerable, but trust me, I recover quickly enough."

Chloe nodded. "Well, that's good to hear. I'm glad you're ok." She was, she realized, shocking herself a little. Maze was a demon, but what the hell did that even mean? Lucifer certainly didn't match up to the image human culture had made him out to be. So her judgement of Maze came back to the same factors she'd used for Lucifer—what the woman in front of her had always shown her. And she'd always been good to Chloe, to Trixie. A little odd and rough around the edges, but otherwise a good person.

However, Maze must have thought her comment was strange was well, because the look she was giving her was one of confusion: knit brow, lips slightly pursed and narrowed eyes. "You do know I'm a demon, right? If you haven't figured it out by now, Lucifer must have told you."

"Yeah, well, I don't think it really matters." She shrugged when Maze continued to stare at her in silence. "The man I love is The Devil, an archangel cast out from Heaven. The ruler of Hell—or former, I guess. I've come to terms with it. Sort of. You being a demon is a blip on my radar compared to the bombshell earlier. So I'm going to roll with and assume that since you haven't tried to hurt anyone I love, that you've been nothing but good to me and my daughter, that you being a demon really means very little in grand scheme of things."

Maze's gaze has softened slightly, and her shoulders became less tense. She, once again, looked slightly uncomfortable—as if she didn't know how to deal with their conversation or Chloe's response. But eventually she said, "Well… ok."

"I need to wash my hands," Chloe said with a grimace. "And maybe order some food. Lucifer might not have to eat, but I do. You wanna tell me what happened with Ella and Dan while I wash up at the bar?" She wasn't actually sure if Lucifer had a kitchen up here.

"Did he tell you he doesn't have to eat?" Maze asked as she followed her, very obviously relieved to be switching to another topic if the look in her eyes was any indication. More softness.

"Yeah, why?"

"What did he say specifically?" she asked, watching Chloe as she walked around to the other side of the bar.

"He just said, 'I don't actually need to eat.' Why?" She stopped at the sink; it sat just under the front part of the bar. She turned the knobs and soaped up her hands, scrubbing.

"He still needs to eat. He probably meant he didn't need to eat _right now_." Maze shrugged. "We're not human so we can go a while without food and sleep. Much longer than you guys, but we still need it eventually."

"Oh… well, that make sense." She rinsed her hands after a good full minute at scrubbing. She frowned. "Shouldn't he need to eat now though? What, with his injuries?"

"Hell if I know. The last time I saw him like this was right after the fall."

Chloe stilled at that, then grabbed a towel hanging nearby to dry her hands off. "So… has he just never gotten into a fight like this before... or… was Pierce using some kind of angel-killing bullets?"

Maze snorted as she moved to lean into the bar with her hip. "As if he could have gotten a hold of demon metals."

Chloe's frown remained. "So… he's invulnerable… then how…?"

Maze visibly stiffened and wouldn't meet Chloe's gaze. "You know what, Decker, maybe you should ask Lucifer about this."

"Maze," Chloe said in her stern voice—the same one she used on Trixie when she tried to lie to her.

Maze sighed and muttered a curse. "He's only vulnerable around you, alright? It doesn't affect his strength or I guess how alcohol affects him. He's just easier to kill. Shit that hurts human's—like getting shot or stabbed—hurts him."

Chloe wasn't sure how to feel about that. "W-why? Is… is there something wrong with me, or—"

"No," Maze interrupted her, reaching across the bar to grab her hands and meet her gaze. The action surprised Chloe into silence. "Nothing is wrong with you. Ok? You're special. But I'm not gonna explain that part. You can ask Lucifer about it. It's not my business to tell." She held fast. "But there's nothing wrong with you, ok? I promise."

Chloe didn't fully understand why Maze was being so insistent about this—concerned about her—but she appreciated it all the same. She nodded, believing her. Maze nodded in return and dropped her hands.

"So, you wanted to know about Dan and Ella, right?" she asked next, taking a seat at the bar. It felt a little strange, but Chloe opted to stay on the other side for the conversation to come.

"Yeah, are they ok?"

"Ella's fine. She kind of fangirled all over Amenadiel's wings. And he wasn't keen on being a model of proof, but there was no other way to get either of them on board. Dan freaked out a bit—I think he's still having an existential crisis, or whatever Linda called it—but he's ok." She motioned behind Chloe. "You mind handing me the bottle of whisky back there? And a glass. Thanks." She popped open the bottle after it was handed to her, pouring brown liquid into the glass. "As for the crime scene, they agreed to not tell anyone what really happened. So sometime in the next twelve hours or so—if the police don't find the scene before then—someone will call it in anonymously. Just make sure you stay here—keep the alibi up. Dan and Ella agreed to make sure they were seen in public places to avoid questioning until it blows over."

Chloe nodded, not really sure about what else to say.

"Dan wants you to call him when you get a chance. He wanted to come by, but I told him that you were busy dealing with Lucifer. And I'm not sure he's really ready to face Satan himself," she grumbled the last part.

Chloe sighed at that. "I'm not really surprised. Dan isn't religious, not really. But his grandmother is a devote Catholic. I can't imagine that didn't have some kind of impact."

"But you're ok with it? Just like that?"

"God no," she blurted. "I wasn't, but not for the reasons you think. Seeing his Devil Face terrified me; his wings did too. But I wasn't—"

"His devil face came back?" Maze interrupted. "You didn't tell me that." And then she said, "You saw it and you're not freaking out still?" Her brows went high at that and Chloe wasn't sure if she was in shock or impressed.

"At first I was terrified," she said, rubbing her arms. "But… I wasn't raised going to church or anything. I didn't really believe in this kind of stuff. At best, I just assumed that when you died you went to a better place—or you were reborn or something.

"What scared me the most was… I dunno... the idea of what you guys existing means. The… implication that… that by comparison to him I'm… an ant." She swallowed. "I know he wouldn't hurt me. But I feel… just so… insignificant next to him.

"Beyond the fear… I mean… what the hell does he even see in me? I'm… I'm nothing."

Maze was quiet for a while, and Chloe had known her long enough by now to figure out that the silence wasn't a sign that she was ignoring her. Rather, she was thinking of what to say instead of just blurting out the first callous response—her normal modus operandi. So Chloe waited, silently, wondering what the demon's verdict was going to be, if anything.

Finally, she took a long swallow off her glass and said, "You treat him like a person." It was a very straightforward and simple response. "His father cast him out because they didn't agree about a few things and Lucifer refused to come to heel; in Hell he had to fight at every turn—to become ruler and to keep it; and here, humans painted him as evil incarnate. No one, since the fall, has probably ever treated him the way you do Chloe. The people who come in and out of his life night after night only want one thing; he gives it to them because it satisfies a curiosity and basic need for him. But he never expects more. He doesn't ask for more because he doesn't trust humanity. And why the hell would he? Why would he risk baring himself to fickle, cruel, undependable humanity?

"You might be terrified of him for the same reason any human would be in the presence of absolute power and divinity, but most of your kind wouldn't be afraid of him for just that reason. And even if they weren't, they'd only care for him because of what they could get from him; or they'd idolize him for his rumored dark and evil nature.

"So yes," she said after another pause, her gaze focused on Chloe—deep, penetrating, "I'm not really surprised he loves you. You don't have an interest in vilifying him, using him, or adoring him because you think he's something he's not. And when faced with his true nature, you stayed.

"I wouldn't really consider that nothing. You shouldn't either."

#

After Maze had gotten Chloe totally up to speed and finished her drink they decided it was probably best to wake up Lucifer and remove the bullet in his arm. But when they got back to the room he was standing, black PJ pants low on his hips, wings no longer out, and the wound on his arm already looking to be scabbed and healing over.

Before Chloe could remark on this, he said, "Before you have an absolute conniption, Detective, the bullet in my arm came out on its own. See for yourself." He held out a hand and Chloe opened hers up under his. A heavy object thumped into her grasp.

Sure enough—one bullet. "Well… that's good. I guess your body rejects this kind of stuff on its own." She eyeballed the injury, stepping closer and barely brushing it with her fingers. He tensed so she didn't push it, but she did become more curious. Her gaze shifted to his. "How do your other wounds feel? Your wings?"

"Sore, but nowhere near as bloody awful as before."

At this, Chloe reached for one of the bandages on his chest and pulled it away slowly to check on the injury she'd treated more than two hours ago. Pink skin flaking scabs met her and she blinked. It occurred to her, now that she thought about it, that almost immediately after getting him into bed earlier, his wounds hadn't been bleeding. They'd been bloody and in need of care, but they hadn't been bleeding like a normal person with that kind of injury. She'd brushed aside then because there had been more important matters. Before her brain could formulate the answer fully, Maze beat her to it.

"So you're not invulnerable when you're around her, but you heal like an immortal. Which, makes sense. I mean, alcohol still doesn't affect you the same way it would a mortal; poison probably wouldn't either."

"Thank the bloody stars then," he said next. "I'm not sure I could stomach being laid up in my own bed much longer. I think I'll have a drink," he said the last with a smirk that Chloe had seen many times before. And then he must have realized what Maze had said in front of Chloe. His gaze shifted back to her in a snap. "You _told_ her?"

"Just that you're vulnerable around her. Not the rest," she replied, holding her hands up in a show of apology.

"_You_ need to tell me," Chloe interrupted before he could chastise Maze further.

He sighed. "Later, perhaps? For now I'd much rather have a drink, if you please." He moved to sidestep her.

"Actually," she said, stepping in his way before he go anywhere; she pressed a hand to his chest, ignoring the warmth that radiated down her arm—the way his dark brown eyes shifted to hers in the most penetrating way. "I think you should eat something first. I ordered Chinese. And even though your wounds are much better, you should take the night off of anything too strenuous or alcoholic. And no drugs," she added at the end, just in case.

"But, Detective," he started, his voice slightly pleading.

"Please, Lucifer," she said softly next. She reached out and grabbed his arm, making sure it wasn't the one with the bullet hole. "I know I can't make you do anything you don't want to do—getting you to listen to me is like trying to tame the damned wind—" Chloe stopped speaking long enough to hear Maze chuckle-snort, "but I really think you should this time. For me." A pause. "If you do, I won't bother you about the invulnerability thing until tomorrow.

"Do we have a deal?"

There was a long silence after that. Lucifer stared at her, gaze locked—warm, and soft, and conflicted. But finally, after a long moment had passed, he sighed. "Very _well_, Detective. If you insist. I, however, insist that you remain with me while I am forced into this imprisonment. If I must be so shackled, then you shall be my entertainment."

Chloe smiled at that, unable to stop herself. "That seems fair."

"Then we have a deal," he agreed.

"If you guys don't need me, I'm going to blow this popsicle stand. I told Linda I'd come back after I finished here."

"Thank you, Maze," Lucifer said. "I know we haven't been on the best terms—"

"Cain is dead. Linda and I are friends again. I don't hate my life anymore. It's water under the bridge." She gave him a smirk, cocky as ever. "I mean, what am I? Human?"

Lucifer chuckled. "Certainly not." As she left, waving once, Lucifer gave her a nod. Then, his gaze shifted back down to Chloe. "So, what shall we do, my dear?"

They wound up staying in bed, watching TV, until the food came. Then they moved to the living room area of the loft, making a sort of picnic on the floor with the coffee table between them. Chloe only stepped away long enough to call Dan and let him know she'd pick up Trixie from his place tomorrow. They both had the day off, so she didn't have school or work to worry about with everything else. He'd had a lot of questions, but she wasn't ready to answer them yet and promised him she would tomorrow or Sunday. She could tell he was worried about her, and doing his best not to be a total dick. Which… wasn't really easy given the loss of Charlotte. But he did sound less upset about it, going so far as to mention that while it hurt, he was glad to know she really was happy and in a better place. That it was the one good thing to come out of this whole 'Lucifer mess', as he'd called it.

When she hung up the call, making her way into Lucifer's room once again, it was to the surprising image of him reading a book, his back up against a stack of pillows pressed between him and the headboard. The lighting wasn't dark, but it wasn't bright either. He was still bare-chested, sheets and blankets were drawn up to his hips; his hair was still a tousled mess, his brow slightly knit in concentration, and his gaze focused on the book. There was something warm, domestic, and entirely normal about the scene. It made her want to put on some PJs herself, curl up next to him, and shut her eyes.

"Do you have a t-shirt I can borrow?" she asked, leaning into the doorframe.

He looked up at her, blinking once or twice. "Uh, yes—sorry." He pointed to the dresser. "Cotton undershirts are in there. Though, why do you ask, Detective? I know my wardrobe could be classified as fascinating, but I can't imagine you caring to investigate just how much." A smirk.

She rolled her eyes and stepped over to the dresser so she could look through it. "I'm looking for a nightshirt for bed."

"Well," he said smoothly, not missing a beat, "you're more than welcome to let me keep you warm here if you like. I won't kick you out of bed for eating crackers." When she glanced over her shoulder at him he was still reading his book, or at least looked it.

Once she had a black shirt in hand, she shut the drawer and stood. "I'll keep that in mind," she said in return, noting his gaze was back on the book in his hands. When he didn't say anything else, she slipped into his bathroom and changed. She folded all of her clothes and set them on the sink, leaving herself in her underwear and the slightly too big shirt she'd borrowed from The Devil himself.

When she came back into the room, briefly admiring the view of the city from here and glow of the setting sun, she slid under the sheets and comforter and curled up next him. Lucifer jerked at this, the book nearly slipping from his hands. She looked up at him, briefly worried she'd bumped one of his injuries. "Are you ok?"

"Fine, Detective. I think you just hit my side where it's sore."

"I'm sorry," she said, pulling away, "I'll move—" The words died on her throat as he tugged her back.

"It's quite alright," he said. "I don't mind; I was just surprised." He gave her a smile and Chloe returned it, settling down so her arm lay across his stomach and her cheek rested on his chest. She closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of him—a sharp cologne she liked the smell of mixed with something earthy. She stayed that way for a while, enjoying the way it felt like she was sinking into him—content and… happy. Happier than she'd been in a long time.

"Lucifer?" she whispered.

"Hm..?" he intoned as she heard a page turn.

"What are you reading?" Because she'd never seen him read anything he didn't have to. Definitely not a book.

"Romance novel," he said without a hint of hesitance.

Her eyes popped open. "A what?"

He looked down at her. "What? I can't enjoy lady porn? Really, Detective—so judgmental. You do know that there are men who write under female pen names because women wouldn't read their work otherwise." He tsked.

"I shouldn't be surprised. I'm not," she amended, sighing. "What's it about?"

Then he chuckled.

"What?"

"I'm teasing you, Detective. I couldn't help it." Still smiling, he explained. "While I do enjoy romance novels for the insight into the fantasies encased in the average female mind, this time my reading choice is only slightly sexual. Byron—before he found God." At this Lucifer rolled his eyes. "And Donne. A few others as well."

It took Chloe a moment to recognize one of those names. Byron. "Poetry…?" she asked, genuinely surprised.

"Yes, Detective. Believe it or not, I can be cerebral. Not by much, I assure you. You need not worry about your devil changing too much."

She let this information wash over her, settling back down next to him comfortably. Suddenly, an idea occurred to her. "Would you read to me?" she asked softly.

More quiet after that. And for a moment she wondered if she should just take it back, if it made him uncomfortable—which seemed strange considering all the things Lucifer did on a regular basis.

But then his deep voice, soft and warm, fell over like a welcome blanket:

_Hold your soul for my welcoming._

_Let the quiet of your spirit bathe me_

_With its clear and rippled coolness,_

_That, loose-limbed and weary, I find rest,_

_Outstretched upon your peace, as on a bed of ivory._

_Let the flickering flame of your soul play all about me,_

_That into my limbs may come the keenness of fire._

_The life and joy of tongues of flame,_

_And, going out from you, tightly strung and in tune,_

_I may rouse the blear-eyed world,_

_And pour into it the beauty which you have begotten._

Chloe didn't know what to make of it, but it was beautiful all the same. "It's pretty," she whispered.

"Amy Lowell, The Giver of The Stars," he murmured. "Fairly certain she's still alive, actually."

"Can you read more?" she asked, settling closer to him.

He smiled before responding—softly, "Certainly, Detective."

**AN :: **I didn't mean not to post this sooner. I had classwork wrapping up before the summer that needed to be done. And I also wasn't a hundred percent sure about this chapter end. Anyway, let me know if you like it. One more chapter to go.

—**Blade**


	4. Part Four

For Who Could Ever Love a Beast

_Part Four_

**I**t was several hours later that Chloe woke up, having realized she'd fallen asleep on Lucifer. He'd moved since then and so had she. She was on her side and tucked under the blanket, facing him; there were only ten or so inches between them and she found herself watching him as he slept.

His lips were slightly parted as he breathed in an out slowly. His long dark lashes—ones she'd never really taken note of before—fell gently on his upper cheeks. His brows were relaxed, and she couldn't help but recall the way they rose just so when he became disbelieving at something, or, just curious—usually about something totally inappropriate. And that thought made her smile. His hair too... he looked really boyish with a stray curl falling along his temple.

She supposed she should feel embarrassed, but she just couldn't find the will or the desire. She hadn't really gotten into bed with the intention of falling asleep, but if she were honest with herself, she hadn't planned on crashing on the couch when she'd agreed to stay anyway. Beyond that, she felt rested—happy.

Had it been less than a day since the fight with Pierce, Cain; since she'd found out the truth about him, about Maze and Amenadiel; since he'd risked everything to keep her from being shot to death? The fear that had plagued her was gone. Granted, it was still a lot to take in, but she'd gotten through the worst of the shock. Any real fear she felt towards Lucifer at this point was replaced with doubt. Despite what Maze had said to her she still wasn't sure. He was a being born of a god; practically a god himself, at least in comparison to her.

Chloe sighed, reaching out as she did so. Her fingers brushed along his temple, pushing the errant strands away. She let her thumb swipe down along his brow, the side of his face, and then she let her knuckles caress his cheek. "What could I possibly offer you?" she murmured to the silence of the room, to the sleeping man next to her. "What could you possibly see in someone like me? Hell," she sighed softly as she began to pull her hand away, "I'm not even remotely the kind of supermodel you normally spend time with." But just before she pulled away entirely, a hand came around her wrist and chocolate browns locked on her. He wasn't hurting her, but she did jump in surprise.

"_Chloe_." Her name rolled off his lips, lathered in a timber of sound uniquely Lucifer; deep as it was, she could hear the vulnerability in it. It sunk beneath her skin like liquid sin and wove into her—making her feel both anticipatory and suddenly wanting. Her abdomen warmed with it and she knew that if she felt between her legs, there would be a distinct moisture that was anything but sweat.

She licked her lips, at a loss for words.

"You chose me," he said finally. "Not because of what you could take from me, and not because you thought I was something I wasn't. Stars, Chloe," he whispered as he released her wrist and pulled her into an embrace—bringing her close enough to touch her forehead to his, "you saw me at my worst and you _stayed_. A better question would be, what could _you_ possibly see in me?"

Her heart fluttered at that, reminding her of what Maze had told her. His words were almost an exact echo of what she'd told Chloe. And now he was asking her to explain herself—to explain why she hadn't run from him after the fight, after she'd seen the monster he'd believed himself to be.

She'd already told him, but that had been in the heat of the moment before—to get him to listen to her. Now... now maybe she needed to say more. To help him understand the same way she needed those assurances. Which... seemed _insane_ because of who he was.

It didn't help that he was inadvertently distracting her.

His hands felt good on her back, especially with how he was gently rubbing circles along her spine. It was an idle action that made it hard for her to focus on his words. _Shit_, he felt good; smelled good. Even so, she found her voice—found the words he needed to ear—as she maneuvered her hand to rest in the center of his chest.

"You have a good heart," she murmured. "I always thought you were attractive—who wouldn't?" she said with a smile. "And I have no doubt you're _very_ good in bed. I never really doubted you before, but now that I'm _fully_ aware of just how old you are, I'm more than convinced." It was his turn to smile. "But that's not why I fell in love with you," she went on more seriously. "I fell in love with you because of your heart—your passionate heart that refuses to do anything halves, that believes in doing the right thing, that wants to see justice done for those who've had their voice taken from them. I fell in love with the man who, despite his best efforts otherwise, wears his heart on his sleeve. I catch sight of it when you think nobody is looking, but I see it the most with my daughter—with the victims we save.

"So yes," she said in finality, while taking in a deep breath, "there are other parts of you that are amazing—that entice me as much as anyone else. But those are just the bonus parts; not the core of who you are. Not the part that made me stay when everything else told me to run."

There was silence after that and she wondered what he was thinking. Her eyes were shut because of how close they were, and she desperately wanted to see his reaction. But when she tried to pull back he held fast. "Lucifer...?"

"I'm alright," he murmured, moving so his face became buried in her hair.

She smiled at that and wrapped an arm around him, shifting slightly to do so. Then she squeezed him to her, inhaling once—taking in the unique scent that she was coming to take comfort in. And then, once he'd loosened his hold on her enough, she pulled back to look at him. He met her gaze—tousled hair, boyish uncertainty she'd never in a million years have imagined on his face, and chocolate brown eyes that seemed to be endless—and took it all in.

"Lucifer?" she asked softly.

"Yes, Detective?"

She smirked at that, catching the laughter in his eyes. But she didn't comment on the title, or the authoritative sexual undertone is sparked—that he was surely aware of. Instead, she said—without a hint of hesitation much to her own surprise, "I don't think I've ever wanted you more than I do right now."

It must have caught him totally off guard, because he looked at her as if she'd grown a third eye. "Pardon?"

She smiled, deciding actions were sometimes infinitely better than words. So she rolled on top of him, the heated center of her pressing into his crotch. In one smooth motion she pulled off the shirt she'd borrowed from him, tossed it aside, and pressed her lips to his. His reaction was instantiations; he sucked a breath in through his nose, his hands came to slide up her sides and settled on her back, and his hips thrust upward at the same time a groan of want hummed in his throat.

And fuck it felt good. Amazing and perfect and—

And then he pushed her away, gasping sharply. He held fast to her shoulders even as she tried to kiss him again. Her eyes opened and she met his gaze, confused. Why would he stop? Hadn't he wanted this, well, since the first time the met? Hadn't he been the one to parade around her naked just to try and entice her into bed? "What's wrong? I thought—"

"I want to," he told her. "You have _no idea_ how badly I want to, De—Chloe."

"But?"

He exhaled again, eyes shutting briefly. "I have to tell you something first."

"Ok... well..." She hesitated, considering if this was really a good time, but decided whatever the hell it was couldn't be any bigger of a deal than finding out her partner and about-to-be-lover was Satan himself. "What is it?"

"The invulnerability thing we talked about earlier? There's more to it than just invulnerability, or rather a lack thereof. Though, I think that has more to do with _me_ and metaphor than what I'm about to tell you."

"Ok but... um..." She didn't know what that had to do with anything, but she did want to know what he'd been hiding from her. The reason he's gotten upset with Maze. Her brow knit. "Is this about what you wanted to talk about tomorrow?"

"Yes, but that was before you decided you wanted to elevate our physical relationship." He frowned, the hands on her shoulders gentling, caressing slightly as everything about him seemed to shift between tense and defeated. "At any rate, it wouldn't be fair to you for us to take this step without giving you all the information."

She smiled softly at him. "I'm sure whatever it is I can handle it."

He smiled tightly in return, and then began his explanation. "Years ago my father gave Amenadiel a task. He sent him down to Earth to your mother and made it so she would have a child. You are a miracle. Literally. Your parents wouldn't have been able to have you otherwise.

"And then he put you in my path—wanting us to meet."

Chloe stilled at that, her mind unsure as to what to latch onto first. "Wait... so... hold on..." A pause. "Is my dad my dad or—."

"Your father is your real father, I assure you. My father merely made it possible for your parents to conceive. That's all."

"Ok... That's... I think I can deal with that." She still didn't move, to continue what they'd been doing or to stop. "When did you find this out?" She wondered aloud, figuring news like this must have freaked him out—the whole 'path' thing.

"Just before I left for Vegas." His smile was wane.

And it hit her why—all of it. "You ran from me," she half accused, her fingers inadvertently digging into the skin of his chest. "Was that why? Because you were afraid of me or something—"

"Yes," he interrupted her in answer, his eyes locked on hers—unwavering. "I was terrified my father was trying to manipulate me. That he was using you to use me. And beyond being used by him—controlled—I didn't want you to be his pawn. But... today has more than disproven that, it seems."

"What do you mean?"

"You can't imagine how impossible it is for a human being to look at my Devil Face and push through that fear—to see beyond it and stay. And you _were_ terrified. Those reactions were real—I would have known if you were lying to me, Chloe. If my father had wanted use me by using you, he would have made that fear impossible in you. He would have made it so you were unaffected by it—like a too tempting carrot.

"But it was there all the same—that fear. That's how I know your actions were your own. Because you chose to stay in spite of that fear. You _chose_ me."

Chloe let out a shaky breath at that—at the emotions that were weaving through her too fast and too strong to slow or control. She licked her lips, unable to stop the way she trembled with it all—not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

"What's wrong?" he asked, reaching up to cup her cheek. She turned her face into the caress.

"Nothing. I just think you're very good at conveying your feelings when you really want to. At making me love you. But," she went on, smiling at him knowingly, "You're very dishonest for someone who claimed he'd never lie to me."

He looked insulted at that, but when he opened his mouth to argue she swallowed his words with a kiss. He tensed at first, but then softened under her entirely after a moment. When she pulled away she murmured, "You did a very good job of pretending you didn't have feelings for me."

He frowned at her even as she smiled, but eventually sighed and said, "Point taken."

She was about to kiss him again, but gasped when he rolled them both over—pressing the length of his body along hers. Her body hummed with heated anticipation when he settled between her legs and murmured, "My turn, Detective," across her lips before kissing her.

She arched into him, her hands sliding down, her thumbs hooking into the waistband of his sleeping pants even as he nipped at her lower lip—as his masterful mouth moved to her neck, biting once there in a particularly sensitive spot. She didn't even try to stop the way she cried out, her hips bucking into his.

"Oh, Detective—_my_ Detective," he groaned and half growled into her throat, "You have no idea how good I plan to make this for you." Even as he finished speaking he was pulling away from her to help with what she'd started—to fully remove the pants she'd been tugging at. As he did so she took that moment to remove the last of her own clothes, her underwear.

As soon as she'd shoved them aside he was right back where he'd been, this time hovering over her—kissing her once again, hard, fast, and leaving her breathless once he'd pulled away. But she didn't really process it once his mouth was on her breast, tongue swirling a pattern around her areola. She exhaled a shaky breath and her fingers slid into his hair, weaving into silken locks. She couldn't help the way her nails just barely dug in when he moved to the other breast—nipping once playfully—and then lower... lower still.

How long had it been?

She didn't want to think about Marcus just then, so she forced the thought away. Even so, she knew it hadn't felt this good just at the start. And while he _had_ been talented with his mouth, it just didn't compare. He certainly hadn't started there. Hell, Dan never had either, not that she could recall.

Her fingers dug into the sheets under her; she was pretty sure if she touched him again she'd be drawing blood considering the way he curving his fingers upward inside of her and hitting just the _right_ fucking spot to make her cry out over and over again—not _quite _orgasming yet, but close enough. Combined with the way he alternating between lapping at her and swirling his tongue around her clit and she felt near to tears.

"_Lucifer..._" she gasped. "Please... I..." And then he let her fall apart. There was just no other way to describe it—the way he hit the right place at the right time, the way he barely grazed his teeth over her clit, and the way it left her uncoiling and bursting with a flood of euphoria and overwhelming sensation.

She rode that high as he moved back up and kissed her deeply—lazily. She was so sated she didn't even mind the taste of herself on his lips. All at once she was lethargic and roused for more, feeling like she was sinking into him even as she spread her legs and urged him onward.

"Chloe—."

"Now," she said against his mouth, her fingers digging into his buttocks—pulling him towards her. He didn't hesitate. And she was so wet, he was so hard and ready for her, that it took no effort for him to slide home—as if he'd been made for her. Even so, the sensation made her groan into mouth as he filled her—stretching her.

"Impatient girl," he admonished. "I'd had so much more in mind," This he said as he thrust into her, breathing against her neck and nipping there once—hard—as if to punish her.

"Later," she gasped.

"_Indeed_," he growled in return as he quickened his pace, as he pulled back and lifted her legs to his chest. She cried out as he met her gaze, pushing forward. The angle made it so he hit deep, that each time he thrust into her it was tight and sensitive.

"Fuck," she gasped, refusing to break his gaze. So she just held on—hands grasping at the headboard behind her for leverage, watching him as he watched her. And as she came undone—again—she had the pleasure of watching him completely unravel himself. Because of her. Because she loved him.

Even so, despite the intensity of the moment, she couldn't help the laughter that escaped her when his wings shot out of his back.

"Well..." he muttered in a gasp of laughter himself, "That hasn't happened in a few dozen centuries or so. A testament to you, darling." He gave her a weak salute as best he could while hovering over her, smiling all the same. "I somehow doubt you will ever cease to surprise me."

She smiled in return even as he slid out of her, unable to stop the way one of her feet—because he legs were still resting on his shoulders—caressed the top of a wing idly. But just as soon as they were there, they were gone. He rolled over to lay next to her with a sigh. Chloe curled up next to him, one arm wrapping about his middle.

"Hey, Lucifer," she whispered.

"Hm?"

"You know this means we're dating, right?"

He laughed out loud at that. "Oh, Detective," he murmured as he rolled over and pulled her close to him, his mouth delivering a husky hush of words across her lips, "You can call it whatever you like, darling, but it's definitely a bit more than that. Especially if it means I'm—for the first time since, _well_, the beginning of The Fall, totally and utterly off the market.

"I rather like to think _I'm yours _with as much fervor that I consider you to be _mine_." He hesitated. "Well, I do mean that in the least patriarchal way possible, I promise. I do like to think of myself as the original instigator of female freedom." His brow wrinkled in the boyish way she'd come to adore.

She smiled against his mouth, deciding that she was fine that. "I'm yours," she agreed before kissing him and whispering, "Always."

* * *

**AN ::** I want to apologize. I had this on my computer for a while now and just utterly forgot to update the damn thing on FF. UGH. You can tell my brain is fried from school. So fried. I'm trying to manage my writing time better seeing as how I have sever fics to finish up.

At any rate, it's done. Glad you enjoyed it! And as always—reviews are love, but are not required or expected.

—**Blade **


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